


Another Life

by chains_archivist



Series: Life by Morgana Black / Jen [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Boys in Chains, F/M, Holiday Torture Challenge, Prison, Sexual Content, Torture, Violence, muldertorture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3665916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Morgana Black/Jen</p><p> The third verse of the 'Life' series. Yup, Mulder's still in the basement...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).
> 
> Warning/Summary: This is MulderTorture. Rated N-17 for violence and sexual content. The third verse of the 'Life' series. Yup, Mulder's still in the basement...
> 
> Special thanks to Shirley, who is the true goddess of MulderTorture, phyre~ for her sweet expertise, and the lovely Kal for *being* Kal...

The bitch must have treated me for a head injury. Days ... weeks ... who knows, have gone by in elusive fragments spliced with crisp details of agony and orgasm. She's fucked me up good alright, I get erect at the thought of her scalpels and dental hooks and her ever shifting complement of nightly gadgets. Any chance of getting out of this with a sex life has long since fled ... but maybe not the chance of getting out. I don't know. I cannot commit the tiniest error. I'm   
playing possum.

Sometimes I cry when I know it's time. Sometimes as they come for me; before her thugs touch me, before she ever touches me, I scream. It wears you down, night after night, you know?

Suddenly I'm transported back to a "Laverne and Shirley" episode. Lenny and the Squigtones are onstage, Squiggy singing high trembly lead while Lenny provides a baritone backup to the doo wop beat.

Squiggy warbles, "Night after night, I treat you like a queen ..."

Lenny, "Darlin' ..."

Squiggy, "Night after night, but you were seventeen ...".

I can't remember it all, but accessing memories becomes easier daily.

The old brain swelling must be going down. Sometimes it isn't such a good thing. Anyway, the funniest part of the scene was the last line to the verse, when Lenny leans into the mike and belts out, "... but who wants to look at the same broad, night after night?". Echoing refrain, "Night after ni-hite?"

She talks. She loves to talk ... and she tells me things while I play stupid.

*****

I can tell he's cold by the texture of his skin; a freshly plucked chicken. He's strapped on his back to a stainless steel autopsy table. It's surface has a depression of approximately two inches, like a shallow bath to store the blood, keep it from overflowing off the table and dripping onto the floor. Not that I care about the mess. I like the table. I like its cold sterility and its connotation with death. It is customized of course, because my Fox isn't dead and sometimes he fights, although not as much as before.

Oh how I love him in bonds. He was born to wear them.

His arms are strapped taut above his head and his chest hitches. Our game has hardy begun and he's hard. His eyes follow me as I walk around the table to admire him. Eyes not quite vacant but deeply broken. They are, perhaps, even more beautiful this way. I can't decide. Even his incredible mind hasn't the equipment to protect itself from repeated trauma. He's lasted so much longer than the others. I hesitate to let him go, I'll hold onto him for as long as they let me. For until his lovely eyes inevitably dim, pain might still be read there.

I stop at the head of the table and bend over him, holding his face in my palms. He looks up at me, breathing harshly. I place a finger to his lips and he closes them. I lean to grasp his beautiful mouth with mine in a wet caress. "Do you remember telling me about Scully? " I ask against his lips.

His face crinkles slightly, uncomprehending. My hands travel down from his cheeks, sliding down the sides of his neck and moving over his slick chest. My mouth travels down his throat; butterfly kisses.

My teeth find a flexed tendon in his neck and sink in, tearing flesh.

Salty blood spills into my mouth and his back arches as he cries out.

His mind may be going but his body remembers. I see his cock surge at my touch. "Scully ..." he repeats dully.

I ease myself up. "Yes, my love, do you remember Scully?"

He licks his wet lips and stares at me. I break eye contact with him

and slide to another side of the table, closer to his genitals. He issues quiet anxious sounds and my eyes fly back to his face. To watch it. Closely. "She's still alive, you know." I confide. Watching. Waiting for a behavior, anything that indicates his understanding.

Nothing in his eyes. They dart about the room randomly. I sigh and manipulate his cock and balls, gently for now. My poor Fox. His breathing quickens and I release them. We're not done playing yet.

*****

Scully's alive! I can't react, can't give the bitch any leverage in this. This one thing that could save me, that I could find the will to fight for.

The knowledge is worth the evening's festivities.

The bitch makes it easy to concentrate on events at hand. She of the endless variations: the chill of the table beneath me, my limbs strapped, her voracious presence hovering, her staff, her *Things*, lurking in the background. So much of this is familiar.

My wrists and ankles are held in leather tonight. Doesn't matter. The constant chafing has left them bruised and raw and occasionally they become infected, but luckily Dr. Bitch is on hand for any medical mishaps. I'm cold and my muscles tremble under the strain of immobility.

God she's crazy. She glides around watching me as she reaches beneath the table. Her lips curl up and back in anticipation, revealing canines washed red with evidence of their recent foray into my flesh.

*****

I finally provoke a reaction from my beautiful broken creature. They told me of his fear of fire and they were correct. He explodes in futile yanking and bucking at the sight of my long simple fireplace lighter. Panicked eyes widen in shattered seductive terror. I allow the flame to brush the line of his hip bone quickly, gently. A tiny reddening occurs yet he delivers a stunning shriek. My own body reacts, I weep at his deadly beauty. I bring up the flame again, revel in the cacophony of blisters coaxed and screams wrenched.

When we're through, my fingers sift through his dark wet hair and I gaze into his broken eyes. His eyes of disarray.

*****

I sense the beginning of the end. I feel it. She feels it. Oh, the bitch. That fucking bitch. What price will she make me pay to learn of Scully?

eeez done....

**Author's Note:**

> Jem, GMT, NMMKRA, CKOTHF, TROEM
> 
> "Ken, Ken, Ken. I didn't want to say anything while George was around, but, isn't it time you faced up to certain realities, Ken? Come on! You're a very attractive man, Ken. You're smart, you've got wonderful bones and you dress *really* interestingly." Otto--A Fish Called Wanda


End file.
